Everyone's Story
by TragicPreparation
Summary: Obsolete: Here for historical purposes only. The rewrite is in the works under the name "Two Weeks After Infection". Please read that one.
1. What if the media was lying to you?

**A/N: This is the re-written version of the first chapter. I felt that, although it was just a intro, the original first was just far too short.**

**I am having a bit of trouble though with the system. How can I break up paragraphs with this editing area? Please Comment with an answer. BTW: this is not the style that the whole story is written in. Just this intro.**

**Again, please Read,Review and Enjoy.**

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December 19th, 2012  
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What if I told you that the media was lying to you? Would you believe me? Or would you assume I was some crack-pot or trying to get a kick out of

things. Whether you believe it or not does not matter, because it does not change the facts. And the facts say that it is true.

Today is December 19th, the third anniversary of when everything dropped. The third anniversary of the apocalypse.

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I am sure you remember the Swine Flu. Plenty of deaths and thousands sick. That was the beginning. November 2nd, 2009 the Swine Flu joined

with the dangerous disease Rabies and from there it all went downhill. People that were diagnosed with the combination disease began to go

missing, but they did not stay missing for long. They would soon be seen in their own towns, but they were not the same. The disease had

changed them.  
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One of the diagnosed was picked up by the police after reports of violence. They found the man ripping at the flesh of a citizen. The citizen was

rushed to the hospital where he later died. Soon thousands of people in the U.S. alone were infected with the Rabid Flu. Seemed as if life was a

George A. Romero film. It was not long before small towns and larger cities alike were all quarantined. The military soon brought in the C.E.D.A.

(**Civil Emergency and Defense Agency**) to handle the problem. To no one's surprise, they failed to control the situation and the military stepped in

directly. It did not work and both groups stopped evacuating the cities.  
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December 19th, 2009 they gave up. This is where my story begins.

Signed,

James Russell


	2. There was not always just four of us

**A/N: Okay, two things. One: The Seven-Eleven was my idea, Chris just used it in his story. Two: The way this story is going to work out is having the present time actions during the chapter, but every so often flashing back; like what was done in this one, to tell more of the back story. Read, Review, Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: You all know I do not own Left 4 Dead.  
**

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"Go Go!" I motioned back at the other three survivors behind me. From the back of a close to home Seven-Eleven we kept a close look out for any stray Infected. I know what you are thinking, A Seven-Eleven? What kind of shelter is a Seven-Eleven? Let me explain. I live in a small town called Charlevoix that is situated in rural Northern Michigan. Small towns should really be no big deal, except for that little fact that my small town is a resort town year round. That combined with the fact that my parental guardians are against firearms made is very hard for me to get anywhere too far from my home without getting in a bit of trouble. It was just very fortunate that it was still early on enough in the infection that communications had not yet been turned off.

I was able to get a hold of my three closest friends; well, closest who had not yet joined the ever growing masses of Infected. Anyway, we agreed on the Seven-Eleven as a good meeting place. Now here I am, armed with nothing but my wits, a crowbar, and fifty pounds of slurpie and dirty magazines.

Chris Young, a five-teen year old male with a fair completion and a raging case of Jew-afro, stepped forward from the others to move the barricade that we had set up to shut ourselves in the backroom while we rested. Jordan Jelinek, another five-teen old male, took this opportunity to reload his twelve-gauge shotgun. I am sure you recall me explaining that I only had a crowbar to defend myself with. Jordan decided to steal his father's truck after "disposing" of his parents; but, in his spur of the moment thinking, he only took _one_ gun from his father's set of many.

Now we have a horribly out-balanced team whereas I have a crowbar, Chris has a lacrosse stick, Emma, a five-teen year old female, has an Ax, and then there is Jordan with his massive Shotgun. See the problem?

Emma stepped forward and began to pack her sling, while I began to prepare our health-kits. We only had three Health-Kits as Chris had had a nasty run in with a Licker, an Infected who had mutated to the point where his tongue was probably longer than his body and used it to ensnare its victims. He was pulled off the Seven-Eleven's roof and dragged for almost twenty feet before Emma managed to get behind it and bulged its head in. We were able to fix Chris up since he had only sustained minor injuries from his fall. Now finished moving the furnisher out of the way from the door, Chris held his lacrosse-stick firmly in his left palm and slung a health-kit and his bag over the shoulder of his right.

"Are you guys ready?" He asked, obviously a little shaken by the idea of leaving the safety of our homemade safe-room and going out there where everything and everyone was fair game. Jordan and I nodded in his direction while we reached for our respective Shotgun and Crowbar.

"Don't worry guys." Emma said soothingly.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Anyway, we need to make this run; our food supply is running short." Jordan's stomach growled as if it were agreeing with my statement. Emma gave a short chuckle while Jordan glared at her. I held my crowbar in my gloved right hand and moved my hair out from my eyes with my left.

"Let's go." All heads nodded.

Jordan took the first steps out of the room, watching for any signs of movement. He was followed by Emma, then me, and finally Chris, stick held out at the ready. The main area of the Seven-Eleven was a disaster. It looked as if an earthquake had stricken. The front windows were shattered and lay in pieces on the ground, what we had not salvaged of the food laid discarded on the floors, and decomposing bodies from our first arrival made the stench unbearable. It took everything I had not to vomit. Even from inside the store I could see the results of the infection. Then from behind me I heard a sob.

"Witch." I whispered to Chris, who was nervously glancing around the room. He nudged me in the left shoulder and pointed to the freezer door.

"We can avoid it." He replied. "Remember what happened before…" He continued solemnly. Jordan nodded slowly.

There were not always just four of us. Before we had Chris's sister, Catherine, with us. I honestly did not know how old she was, but I could make a guess of around eight-teen at the time. It had been less than a week before. When we were still somewhat cocky and thought ourselves invincible. Our first encounter with a Witch close to the theater was a confusingly frightening one.

All we saw was a girl in the road. Her form was shrouded in the shadows. We could hear her cries of sorrow from where we were standing. We had actually thought that it may have been a fellow survivor, which looking back on it was quite foolish. Catherine just strode on up to the girl and tried to comfort her. The only response she received was a low guttural growl. Catherine was unable to get away fast enough. The girl turned and we saw those eyes. How I will never forget those eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. They still haunt my dreams.

Suddenly the girl let out a screech and the very next thing we saw was Catherine thrown to the ground and claws ripping through her delicate human flesh as if it were nothing. Her tears mixed with her darkening blood that was quickly running from her fresh wounds. We tried in vain to beat the Witch, as we had named it by its bony claws, to the ground. By the time that Jordan was able to get a clear shot into the Witch's head Catherine was in critical condition.

We could not save her from the injuries… It would have been possible to had we held a Health-Kit. Alas it was not until two days later that we found the four packs tucked into a compartment in the Villager Pub.

Catherine soon died. It affected all of us, but none more than it did her brother. Chris did not speak for days. He opted instead to sit in the safe-house, unmoving in his bed. After his run in with the Licker he began to speak more. To leave with us when we went out for supply runs. Now here we are again, leaving the safe-house and now encountering another Witch. We could only hope that this time it had a better outcome.


End file.
